


Grinch Anonymous

by 100hearteyes



Series: we were built to fall apart (then fall back together) [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers, anyway this is just an excuse to write tooth-rotting, it's very corny, the work they do is invaluable, they're in a help group called Grinch Anonymous, this is in no way meant to mock or discredit help groups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes
Summary: "Hello, my name is Lexa--""Hi, Lexa.""--and I am here because I want to stop ruining Christmas for everyone around me."ORLexa realizes that her hatred for Christmas is affecting the people she loves, so she decides to join a support group called Grinch Anonymous, where she's assigned a sponsor who will help her cope and understand the true meaning of the holidays. Her sponsor is none other than the "grumpy, brash, and opinionated" Clarke Griffin.





	Grinch Anonymous

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is in no way meant to mock or discredit support groups. The work they do is invaluable.
> 
> Anyway, I couldn't let the holidays pass without writing something ;)

"Hello, my name is Lexa--"

"Hi, Lexa."

"--and I am here because I want to stop ruining Christmas for everyone around me."

"That is admirable, Lexa."

Lexa looks over at the man who just spoke. He has a thick, salt and pepper beard and luscious hair swept back behind his ears, around a good-looking face with a kind smile and knowing eyes. The name tag on his chest says "Marcus"; he must be the leader of the group.

Lexa shrugs, unaffected by compliments.

"Do you have anything else you would like to share, Lexa?"

The stare Lexa levels him with — icy glare with a resting bitch face, her sister would call it — deters him from exploring that line of questioning. Instead he clears his throat and motions to another member of the circle of sitting ducks.

"Clarke can be your sponsor from now on. Would you two be okay with that?"

Lexa's eyes travel to the person in question and she decides very quickly that she would not 'be okay' with that. Clarke has wavy, blonde hair that frames her face in all the messy, right ways, blue eyes that poke and prod and pierce right into the core of Lexa's being, and a smile so soft Lexa is sure it will melt her into a puddle of gay if given the chance. So, no.

She is definitely not okay with that.

"Yep."

Lexa's eyes open wide with betrayal as she scowls at Clarke. How dare she. But then all eyes are on her, expectant or impatient she cannot decide, and Lexa has no choice but to sigh in defeat and nod.

"Yes."

 

* * *

 

"So, what's your origin story?"

They have been walking in silence, boots crunching the snow and hands tucked into pockets, for the better part of half an hour. Introductions, oftentimes the ideal icebreaker, were not necessary, which left them to fend for themselves, helpless against the awkwardness. Which Lexa would have been okay with, because talking is the last thing on her agenda.

Still she lets her eyes escape to Clarke for half a second before shrugging under the weight of her thick overcoat. "I do not have one."

Clarke snorts and Lexa is quickly getting tired of her brashness — in laymen terms, that means that she is growing more and more fascinated. "'Behavioral dysfunctions are oftentimes caused by trauma', Marcus always says. Everyone has an origin story. Even the actual Grinch has one."

Lexa stops, causing Clarke to do the same. They face one another and she is surprised to find that Clarke seems unaffected by her raised eyebrow. It usually inspires fear or, at the very least, discomfort in the bravest of men.

"I dislike Christmas because I have always found it to make very little sense."

Clarke hums, although Lexa cannot tell if it is with understanding or skepticism. "And that's why you're in Grinch Anonymous."

Skepticism it is.

Lexa presses her lips together, determined not to say anything else. Yet there is something about this girl, about this Clarke, that somehow robs her of good sense.

"I don't understand why people are kind during this time of year by decree. Someone decided that this was the time to be merry, so people do just that, and come January they become bitter and evil again."

Clarke doesn't speak. Lexa doesn't either, which causes a long, awkward silence to stretch between them. Still they keep staring into each other's eyes. 

"Do you know why I'm a Grinch?"

The question catches Lexa by surprise. She frowns, goes over the whole meeting and the few sentences they exchanged afterwards. Her answer is a shake of her head.

"My dad died on Christmas day six years ago."

For several moments, Lexa doesn't know what to say. She knows Clarke doesn't want her pity, or her pretty words. Moreover, when she gazes into Clarke's eyes, she sees two things — a shadow of grief and a glint of defiance. So she goes for the only thing she feels will be acceptable in this moment.

"My father walked out on me and my mother the day after Christmas when I was six. The last Christmas present my mother ever gave me was a needle for herself, when I was ten. She died that night with an overdose. My last girlfriend broke up with me on Christmas day because I refused to celebrate it with her family."

"That sucks."

"It does."

Clarke's nod is solemn, slow. In her eyes, Lexa sees an understanding she never knew before. Then Clarke's lips stretch into a smile.

"Now that's more like it," she decides with a final nod and resumes walking.

It takes Lexa a couple of seconds to react, and then she hurries to catch up with her sponsor.

"I'm glad that my sharing of my tragic backstory has brought you such glee," she deadpans.

Clarke doesn't so much as look at her, but Lexa can hear a smirk in her voice when she says, "Me too."

And Lexa — well, Lexa can do nothing but stop and stare in both wonder and shock after this girl who pushes all of her buttons at once. And maybe ignore the frantic beat of her heart against her ribcage as she jogs to catch up with her new sponsor.

 

* * *

 

Hanging out with Clarke is like starting a race twenty steps behind — Lexa feels the eternal need to catch up. At the same time, it also feels stupidly easy. It should be harder to open up and to get this girl to open up to her in return. And it is, in a way, but it also isn't, not even a little bit. If that even makes sense.

Clarke has all the jokes and the brashness Lexa doesn't possess. She's opinionated and almost permanently annoyed at something, but also happier than Lexa can ever dream to be. They are both the children of tragedies, yet one has already managed to fight her way back to the surface, while the other is still grappling with the ocean around her. Clarke has been helping her up by teaching her to respect Christmas.

Lexa has learned that Clarke's tipping point was three years ago, when she destroyed all the decorations in her grandmother's house on Christmas Eve, with all her cousins, uncles, and aunts there to see her Hulk out (Clarke's words, not Lexa's). In turn, Lexa told Clarke that she didn't really have a tipping point — she just realized that none of her friends and family wanted to spend Christmas with her because she made everyone sad.

Clarke is not just grumpy, brash, and opinionated. She's also funny, kind, and selfless, with a bright intellect and the most beautiful smile Lexa has ever seen. Lexa is forever out of breath.

"You know, you should smile more often."

They are knitting Christmas sweaters for a children's shelter nearby for a Grinch Anonymous assignment given to Lexa. Clarke volunteered to help her, for some godforsaken reason, under the guise of needing to make sure that Lexa wouldn't sow poop emojis into all the sweaters. Lexa argued that just because that was her favorite emoji and she wasn't particularly fond of Christmas, it didn't mean she would be so evil as to do that to kids. Clarke shrugged, then, saying one could never be sure and she had better watch over Lexa just in case.

Lexa raises an eyebrow, as is her way. "Why, because it would make me look prettier? I thought you were above that, Clarke."

Whereas Lexa is an eyebrow raiser, Clarke is an eye roller. A gesture as annoying as it looks beautiful on Clarke. "No. I've just never seen you smile. I'm curious to know what it's like."

"It's a smile, Clarke. There is nothing special about it."

"I bet it's either the most beautiful smile in the world or it looks like a grimace."

Lexa looks at the sweater in her hands with a confused frown, then directs it at Clarke. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

Clarke's smile is too self-satisfied for her own good — or Lexa's. "Take it as both."

They knit for a little while longer, letting a comfortable silence settle around them. This is Lexa's third month on Grinch Anonymous, the countdown till Christmas is almost over and she's a little behind on her knitting. Despite what others might think — she hasn't made any friends in the group other than Clarke — Lexa has a heart. It may not be very big or brimming with love, but she's careful to pour whatever is left of its contents into the happiness those she loves. She loves children, too, regardless of her personal thoughts about Christmas, so she takes special care with the sweaters she has been knitting; every twist of the needles brings forth an image of the kinds' big, toothless grins when they open their presents.

It's with that image in her mind that Lexa forgets to pay attention to what she's doing and suddenly feels a harsh prick on her right forefinger. She yelps at the biting pain and shakes her finger hoping to stave off the pain. Then a hand takes hold of it and soft lips suck at the pricked spot.

Lexa all but freezes, eyes wide and jaw slack, at the sight of Clarke kneeling in front of her chair, sucking on her finger. Which has none of the sexual implications one might associate with the phrase — or with Lexa's thoroughly frazzled state — but she can't help but imagine this very moment in a very different, much more meaningful situation. Because this is the precise moment that Lexa's gay decides to run her over like a goddamn homosexual rainbow avalanche.

It's only when Clarke's lips leave her finger — in a reality outside Lexa's own, it really only takes a few seconds — that Lexa finally finds herself able to breathe. She retracts her finger, but Clarke is quick to take it back and hold it up as her other hand reaches for the small bag strapped to her waist. Clarke takes cotton and a small bottle of alcohol or whatever it is from the bag and lets Lexa's finger go just long enough to pour the liquid onto the piece of cotton, then dabs at the wound with it.

Lexa hisses at the pain, which causes Clarke to look at her with a quirked eyebrow. She will have to have a talk with Clarke about signature moves, as it appears. Under the full force of Clarke's disapproval, however, she just ducks her head and purses her lips. Stoically, one might add.

Clarke dabs at the wound some more before seemingly deeming it all right, but doesn't let Lexa's finger go. Instead, she picks the sweater from the floor, where it fell before, and places it back on Lexa's lap. Clarke brushes a hand over the pattern.

"This is beautiful," she says, maybe more to herself than Lexa. "Thanks for making an effort."

Lexa's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Why wouldn't I? These sweaters are for children in a shelter. I might not like Christmas, but that won't make me ruin theirs. Not when it's one of the few times of the year when they are truly happy."

Clarke's hold expands from her finger to her whole hand and Lexa tries to fight the way her stomach swoops at the feeling. Even more so when Clarke's thumb starts brushing patterns on the back of her hand. And that small, soft smile — Lexa would knit a thousand sweaters just to see it.

"Believe it or not, many people wouldn't be so selfless." Clarke's fingers tickle the back of Lexa's hand, as though coaxing it into turning around. It does just so, Lexa's brain's orders to stay put notwithstanding, so both hands are palm to palm. It's only natural for Lexa to link their fingers together. Clarke looks at their joint hands, her smile even softer, and then raises her gaze, finding Lexa's already on her. "You know, the story says that the Grinch's heart was two sizes too small and when he redeemed himself, it grew three sizes bigger."

"I didn't know that," Lexa whispers, unable to take her eyes off Clarke's, who doesn't let the interruption steer her off course.

"Life convinced you that you're the actual Grinch, but I know that's impossible. You want to know why?"

Lexa can't be imagining the way Clarke is leaning in, closer and closer, until only an inch separates them. She doesn't imagine her own leaning until that distance is reduced to the width of a thread from a spider's web.

"Why?"

"Because your heart is the right size," Clarke whispers back, brushing their noses together; Lexa doesn't know when their foreheads joined. It would be so easy to just lean in, close the distance between them and let her heart have a taste of what it's dreamed of for the past few months. "If anything, it's two sizes too big and still not enough for all the love you hold inside."

She can't help the full, genuine smile that takes hold of her lips and stretches them until her cheeks hurt. Clarke sees it, nods to herself, and smiles back.

"I knew it," she says like she's letting Lexa in on a secret. "It's the most beautiful smile in the world."

Lexa's heart inflates in her chest and she knows her eyes are hooded, pupils probably blown, as are Clarke's. Those blue eyes, always so clear, are now dark and at half-mast, waiting for possibilities to become reality. And oh, does Lexa yearn for that — does Lexa long for the excitement of unwrapping this bundle of possibilities, one by one, ball up the package and throw it aside so that she can explore all that this road has to give.

She yearns for Clarke to close the gap. So much so that when Clarke moves at last, her nose tracing the upper curve of Lexa's cheek and her lips reaching dangerously closer to her own, Lexa's heart jumps in her chest. So much so that when the door handle is turned, amidst her nerve endings setting fire and her eyes dropping almost shut, it causes Lexa to jump on her chair like she just saw a ghost. But she's not the only one — Clarke jumps to a stand so fast her legs may as well be coils.

They separate just in time to look half decent when Kane actually opens the door and enters the room. He doesn't notice anything unusual, anyway, which is hardly a surprise considering how up in the clouds his head always is.

"As I was saying, whether or not you celebrate it for religious reasons, Christmas is about love," Clarke finishes a sentence she never started, tucking a stray of hair behind her ear. "That's our most important lesson."

Lexa is still reeling from the moments before, her mind foggy and her eyes droopy, so all she can do is nod and mutter something akin to 'got it'.

Kane, still painfully oblivious, smiles at the sight of them. "Girls, I was looking for you. How are those ugly sweaters coming along?"

Clarke has got her composure back by now and smiles slyly at him. "Slow and steady, Kane. And not ugly at all. Anyway, what are you really doing here?"

He chuckles, clapping his hands together. "You know me too well, Clarke." His face loses a small part of its joyfulness. "I was wondering if you two have plans for Christmas. If not, then you're both welcome to come by my house and spend the evening with my family. Harper and Raven will be there too," he adds to make sure his words aren't misinterpreted.

Lexa's heart warms at the offer and the sentiment. Over the few months she's spent with the group, Lexa has realized that Marcus Kane is a very good person. He still fights his own demons, but he's stronger despite, with, and because of them. It's hard not to admire the man.

"I'm spending Christmas Eve with a friend's family," Lexa informs him with a small shrug. Then she looks up at her sponsor. "What about you, Clarke?"

"Me too," Clarke answers quickly, before realizing the possible implications. Her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink as she rushes to add, "I mean my family. Not Lexa's friend's. That wouldn't make any sense. My dad, my mom, my cousins, aunts, and uncles. My family, in Seattle. I've booked the flight already."

Kane chuckles at Clarke's odd behaviour, still none the wiser. He nods at them both, preparing to leave. "I'm glad both of you have family to celebrate with. Have a nice day!"

He leaves and closes the door behind him, leaving Lexa and Clarke to battle the ghosts of frustrated possibilities and lost opportunities. Ghosts that prove far too strong for them, for a few seconds later Clarke walks over to her chair and resumes her knitting.

They don't mention their almost-kiss again.

 

* * *

 

It's just a week before Christmas, on what would have been her mother's birthday, when Lexa has a small crisis. Amidst her grief, she may or may not tear all the Christmas decorations in her house and then call her best friend Anya to inform her that she wouldn't go to her Christmas party, before collapsing on the couch.

It's only a knock on her door that interrupts her wallowing. She ignores it, at first, hoping that whoever is on the other side — most likely some Jehovah's witness intent on teaching her the true meaning of the Bible — will go away. Their visitor is a stubborn one, though, because they keep knocking.

And then Clarke's voice wafts from outside her apartment telling to 'just open the damn door'. "I know you're in there," Clarke yells and her knocking turns into straight up pounding the door. "Let me in, Lexa!"

Not a Jehovah's witness, then, but just as much of a pain in the ass.

Lexa stands up reluctantly and pads to the door. When she opens it, Clarke must see the the tear tracks on her cheeks, because not a moment later she's being enveloped in a tight hug. She stays still at first, both determined to remain stubbornly detached and unsure of how to react without burning up from Clarke's open show of affection, but then her arms move of their own accord and wrap around Clarke's shoulders. Lightly to begin with, then tighter and tighter until it feels like she needs to hold on to Clarke to survive. Over the months they've known each other, Clarke has become her rock, her lifeline, the buoy that serves as her beacon and keeps her afloat. Two months with Clarke in her life and Lexa can hardly remember what it was like before. She just hopes that someday she can be Clarke's rock, too.

Clarke pushes at her shoulders with gentle hands and gets a good look at her face, blue eyes skidding with concern over Lexa's every feature. Then two hands cup Lexa's face and she barely knows how to breathe. Clarke's frown deepens.

"What happened?"

Clarke's raspy, kind voice is like a balm for her troubled mind and heart. Lexa could avert her eyes and make up some excuse, but she finds that she doesn't want to. She wants to tell the truth and share the reason of her pain with Clarke.

"Today my mother would have turned forty," she whispers, afraid that any word above it will break this tender link between them. "The knowledge affected me more than I expected it to. I... I told Anya to shove Christmas up her ass." She gestures around them at the torn decorations. "My apartment is in no better state than I am."

Clarke's lips stretch into a small, sad smile, which Lexa loses sight of when her sponsor rests their foreheads together. Her eyes flutter at the feeling of Clarke so close, so real, so invested in her wellbeing that she would come knocking on her door to make sure she's all right.

"How did you know to come over?"

"Anya called me, she was worried about you. Don't worry, you're still invited you to her Christmas Eve dinner," Clarke adds with a smile.

That is a relief, not that Lexa will ever admit it. "I wasn't worried."

Clarke hums skeptically, like she did two months ago when they met. "I'll bet."

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Lexa start holding hands in casual situations. Sometimes it goes unacknowledged, other times they find each other's eyes and smile. They also go over to each other's apartments a lot, hang out even more, and cook meals for one another. Normal things that normal friends do.

In a way, Lexa is glad that they didn't actually kiss that day with the sweaters; they weren't ready then, not like they might be now. Now, they can pursue something — if they want to, that is. And that's where Lexa's concern lies: she doesn't know if Clarke wants the same things.

All thoughts of Clarke and possibilities are swept aside for the time being, however. Lexa has a Christmas dinner to go to and many people to show that she can be, if not joyful, at least not someone people will get depressed just from looking at. She's determined to be better.

The evening goes by very smoothly, all things considered. People are understandably wary of her, at first, but warm up as the night rolls forward and they acknowledge her effort. It's not exactly a fun night; Lexa keeps herself to herself most of the time, yet she can tell that she's no longer a stormy cloud over everyone else's heads. Baby steps, she tells herself. One day, she will actually have fun like the rest of them.

Her phone rings right after dinner, cutting off Aunt Maria's monologue about the memory capacity of the Blue Tang. Her lips curl into a smile at the name on the screen and she excuses herself as she slides the button to answer.

"Hello, Clarke. Are you having a good time?"

The two or three beats it takes for Clarke to answer worry her. "Hey, Lex." Clarke's voice is small and it sounds like she's been crying. Lexa's brain is working at a hundred miles a minute before Clarke has even said the second word. "I'm sorry to interrupt your party, I- I shouldn't have called. I'm—"

"No, Clarke," she cuts off as she searches for a more secluded spot where she can talk to Clarke without the sounds of the party intruding on their conversation. "I'm glad you called. Please tell me what's wrong."

She can almost see the other girl biting her lower lip, deciding whether or not to share. At last Clarke sighs, cracked and shaky. "My flight was cancelled and I wasn't able to go home for Christmas. And I know, stupid thing to cry over, but I'm alone and I don't wanna go to Kane's house and-- it just sucks, you know? Christmas fucking sucks. And I..." A deep breath in, a deep breath out. "I don't know. Just forget I called. I'm sorry for bothering you. By—"

"Where are you?" It's a split decision she doesn't know how to explain. She doesn't care to, anyway.

"Lexa, no. You're not—"

"Clarke," she demands with a stern voice. It's the voice that gets things done. "Where are you?"

The heavy sigh that comes through the line tells her that Clarke has relented. "I'm home."

"Stay there," Lexa says before hanging up.

She skips to the foyer and puts on her coat before she remembers that she shouldn't disappear without Anya's knowledge. She finds her best friend in the kitchen, fixing a plate of ginger bread cookies to take to the main table.

"Anya," she calls, out of breath, and bites her lip at her friends quirked eyebrow. "Clarke needs me. I have to go, sorry."

To her surprise, Anya smiles. "It's okay, I understand."

"You do?" she asks and hates how hopeful she sounds. Anya shrugs with a smirk.

"Christmas is about being with the ones we love."

Lexa falters, turns around, frowns at her friend's words. "What do you—"

"Go! Just go," Anya laughs, shoving her out the door. "More dessert left for me."

 

* * *

 

Lexa drives through an almost empty city. Everyone else is celebrating Christmas around warm hearths and surrounded by twinkling lights, while Lexa is cold, stuck in a dark car, and driving towards someone she's not even sure feels the same way. She could care less, though. Right now, all she can think of is getting to Clarke and helping her.

She runs up the stairs of Clarke's building, too impatient to wait for the elevator, and then down the hall to the right apartment. She lifts the rug, finds the spare key underneath — the dangers of which she's warned Clarke about more than once — and opens the door.

Clarke's apartment is dark, decorations torn and thrown wildly all over the floor; only the lights on the Christmas tree remain intact. The light they provide is scarce, although enough to discern the small body sitting against the wall next to it, arms wrapped around legs pressed against a hidden chest, and blonde hair falling over knees.

"Clarke?" she calls quietly so as not to scare her friend.

Clarke lifts her head from her knees and stares at Lexa; the mere sight of the girl's broken expression breaks her heart. Lexa approaches her step by step, careful not to test any limits. Her sponsor says nothing, however, and seems receptive to her approach, so she crosses the distance between them and sits down on the floor next to her.

Lexa taps a finger on the back of Clarke's hand. She gets the reaction she was hoping for — Clarke links their hands and fingers together between their bodies, before resting her head on Lexa's shoulder. Silence sits between them, lazy and comfortable, admiring the beautiful mess Clarke made of her apartment.

"I'm sorry that you had to come here."

Lexa gazes at Clarke, kisses the top of her head. "I wanted to."

Another pause, before Clarke speaks again. "This is ridiculous. We're part of a support group called Grinch Anonymous because we can't even cope like grownups with our hate for a freaking holiday. I freaked out because my flight was cancelled and I couldn't go home for _Christmas_ ," she mocks herself. "What am I? Five?"

"I don't actually know your age, but I would say something like that, yes."

Lexa can't hold on to her serious expression when Clarke lifts her head from her shoulder and looks at her with mock affront. "How dare you." Lexa's lips bloom into something between a smirk and a dopey smile, and it warms her heart to see Clarke's lips suffer the same fate. Most of all, she's happy that she managed to make Clarke smile. "I'm twenty-four, thank you very much, asshole."

Lexa's smile archs into a full smirk. "You're old."

Clarke scoffs and pinches her side. "And how old are you, smartass?"

"Twenty-five."

"That's older!"

"Yes, but I'm young at heart."

Clarke laughs, full and crystalline, and Lexa feels like mission: impossible has been accomplished. "You're the opposite of young at heart. If 'old at heart' came in the dictionary, it would be your picture next to it."

"Probably," Lexa reckons with a fond smile. "Now, shall we redecorate your lovely home?"

She stands up and extends a hand to Clarke. Thrill ripples through her skin when Clarke takes it with a full, wide smile. "We shall."

They spend the following hour piecing Clarke's apartment back together. It's half work, half fun and games, and Lexa wouldn't trade it for a million parties. In the end, they stand under the doorframe, the best spot for a full view of the open-plan apartment, and admire their work. Lexa would go so far as to say that it looks even better than before.

"It looks good," Clarke says, smiling at her and squeezing at their joined hands.

"It does," Lexa agrees with a nod, and looks down, left, right, and up. "And now-- oh."

"What?"

Lexa's nerves tickle her tummy; it feels like an ant running over it, with its tiny paws tapping lightly on the skin and causing a funny itch she can't scratch at. She averts her eyes, looks down, but somehow her body turns to face Clarke fully.

"It's nothing. Just-- remember how you decided that it was a great idea to hang mistletoe on the doorframe?" She points up. "We are standing directly under it."

"Oh," Clarke mutters as she looks up to find the mistletoe, her cheeks growing a very complimentary shade of pink. "Well, I guess... If we're trying to do Christmas right, then we probably shouldn't break the first tradition with come across, yeah?"

By now, Lexa's mind is on another planet entirely, looking over this very moment and much too busy trying to push though the fog to form words. It gets even worse when Clarke's hand cups the back of her neck and soft fingers start stroking the skin there, leaving goosebumps in their wake and chasing them away on the way back. Still she manages to remember the skill she learned when she was just a baby. "Yeah."

The tension grows and grows almost up to its tipping point. However, before she can lean in, Clarke's hand leaves her neck and and clutches the bottom of Lexa's shirt instead. Another pale hand joins it and the fingers of both hands start idly twisting the seam of Lexa's shirt. Clarke keeps her gaze on her own hands for a few seconds, until she seems to come to a decision and meets Lexa's own gaze. There is a resolute spark to the hesitant blue.

"Lexa, why... Why did you leave your party for me?"

The answer has been in the back of her mind for a long time and thumping against the inside of her chest since she left Anya's house. Why do you leave everything you worked for for the past few months to be with someone else? The answer is obvious and it blooms past her lips without a second thought.

"Christmas is about being with the ones we love."

Clarke's lips are delicate though demanding, delectable and soft. In a way Lexa can't explain, they encompass all of Clarke; kissing them feels like getting to know her all over again, from the moment they met and Lexa decided that she was definitely not 'okay' with being sponsored by Clarke, to this very second and every second that follows it, allowing her to map another piece of Clarke she didn't know before.

Every piece takes its place in a puzzle so wide Lexa can't see the end of and she hopes to keep solving for a very long time. For loving Clarke feels like starting a race twenty steps behind — but also crossing the finish line twenty steps ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year!


End file.
